Page 68 of The Alpha's Forced Bullied Mate

We came upon a crowd that had gathered near the guest houses at the edge of the neighborhood. Adrian was up at the front, chatting with such an animation I had never seen before.A few people parted to give us space to move into the group. The alphas were behind me, Cliff was leading us, and Hector was stuck to my side with his hand clasped in mine. It felt like a strange train going through the crowd.

I passed Daria and then Mortimer as well, the gargantuan man hovering over the crowd with a critical and watchful eye to make sure nobody was going to do anything stupid. Heads were in the way. I couldn’t see what was up ahead. I could just hear the wave of chuckles that came back in ripples.

When we reached the center, where Adrian was standing with three other people, Hector froze in place with his fingers digging into my knuckles. I looked up at him, noticing the terrified look on his face. “You look like you've seen a ghost.”

He gulped. “Iamseeing a ghost—two of them.”

He pointed between two big heads toward a very frail and weird-looking woman wearing a cloak and trying with all her might to hide the flask that she was holding in her hand under one of the cloak sleeves.

Trying and failing.

That could only be one person. “Aunt Gerta.”

I squinted at the two people with Adrian, noticing their worn faces. Hector pushed through the crowd to get closer, giving us a better view. One of the people had blue eyes and the other had violet. The way that they stood, their mannerisms, the way that the man tilted his head back and laughed, the corners of his eyes crinkling reminded me of someone. The way that the woman smirked looked familiar. She held a bike helmet under one arm, wearing a leather jacket with leather pants and pointed boots. The man was wearing much the same except his boots had large buckles on them. He had a pair of drumsticks in his back pocket. Dark hair. Olive skin.

My jaw dropped. “My Goddess, those are your parents.”

Hector mashed my hand. “What are they doing here? They're not welcome.”

I hissed as I tapped his shoulder. “Hand.”

He gaped in shock at my red knuckles. “Cherry pie, I’m so sorry…” He kissed my knuckles delicately. “I’m just angry that they’re here and acting so friendly.”

“Maybe that means they’re willing to make up for their mistakes, whatever those are.”

“Not possible.”

I smiled gently. “Aren’t we in the spirit of forgiveness right now?”

“You don't even know what they did to me.”

I nodded. “That's true, but I think I have an idea—and I have another idea, too.”

Without hesitation, I stepped toward the two people I had never actually met. I had heard about them. I had seen a few pictures here and there. But Hector didn't talk about his parents. Probably for a good reason.

Aunt Gerta had a scrawny frame and beady eyes. She was short, around the age of forty-two, and usually wore floral-patterned dresses. Today, her dress was covered with a giant cloak. The closer I got, the more I could smell the vodka wafting from her skin. She looked at me with a snarl. “Oh yeah, this is the floozy he picked up.”

His parents suddenly focused on me, their eyes drilling, criticizing, and inspecting. I was used to that. So, I wasn't bothered in the least. I smiled gently and opened my arms. “Welcome home.”

The woman looked pained. Her tired eyes looked over my shoulder at her child. Her hair was wiry and fluffy around her face, a tattered brown trimmed in layers that appeared like it had been bleached too many times. “I'm not so sure my son thinks the same.”

I shrugged. “I guess that means we all should chat, shouldn't we?”

Hector’s father stepped forward and jutted out his hand. “Call me Patrick.” He pointed to his wife. “And this is Darla.”

Aunt Gerta stepped forward. “I don’t think you should—”

Patrick glared at his sister. “I don’t thinkyoushould speak anymore. I’m having a moment with my family.”

My smile widened. “Let's take this somewhere private, shall we?”

***

Hector couldn't have possibly looked angrier when I invited his parents into our home. There was so much tension in the air that I probably could have sliced it with a claw. I made some tea, refreshed the biscuits on the plate, and put some butter on the table. I heated up a couple more things, some leftover steak tips and potatoes, knowing that they were starving.

Wolves who travel ate pretty much triple that of a stationary wolf. Though Hector was incredibly frustrated, he sat stiffly in his chair, politely passed napkins, and refilled drinks as needed. Blake and Troy had bid us farewell for the moment, heading out to join Kylie and Fred in one of the guest cabins.

I still hadn't spoken to my best friend, but I knew I had to, eventually. There were just some other loose ends we had to tie up first.

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